In
by mispel
Summary: Lincoln makes his argument to young Michael to keep him off the street.


In

  
  


Lincoln walked up to the apartment building. He hadn't seen the place in days. All he wanted was to lie down and get some shuteye. A small group of guys stood by the road, talking noisily. They were in the corner of his eye. At first, Lincoln didn't realize that Michael was among them. Lincoln almost went past when he heard him laugh. He turned and saw Michael with these rough looking kids. Lincoln stalked over, grabbed the back of his collar, and threw him to the ground easily. He weighed nothing. He was going to be dead within a year.

Michael lay on the pavement, stunned. Lincoln didn't even look at the other kids. He didn't have to. They scattered like dropped coins. All his attention was on Michael

"Get up," he told him. Michael got up slowly. He really shouldn't have. Lincoln punched him in the face. Michael fell. His face was all blood and shock when he looked up at Lincoln. Michael wiped away at his bleeding nose, accepting Lincoln's anger. He thought that was it. More blood kept coming down his lip.

"Where have you been?" Lincoln asked, his voice a growl. Veronica had relayed the message from the school - Michael was skipping, getting in trouble. Her voice on the phone told him to do something before it was too late. Not this, of course. But Michael wasn't her responsibility.

"You haven't been in school for days," Lincoln said.

"You haven't been home for days," Michael threw back, his voice weirdly nasal because of the blood.

"You want to go where I go? Look at you!"

"I can take care of myself."

Lincoln didn't ask him to get up this time. He just kicked him.

"Really, Michael?"

Lincoln did it again.

"Really?"

There was no shock on Michael's face this time. His face was pale and slack with pain. He was curled into himself throwing up onto the pavement.

"You can take care of yourself, Michael?"

Michael didn't answer. He coughed, choked, wrapped his arms around his middle protectively. Lincoln made sure that his anger kept back the pity that was creeping up his belly like sickness. He got enough beatings to know how to give one without rupturing anything vital. No trip to the hospital. Just pain. He stared down at Michael. Michael didn't look up. He waited to see if Michael had any defiance left. He didn't want to hit him again. But he would. Michael's weakness couldn't move him. Michael's weakness was the problem. Michael could not take care of himself. Lincoln stood so close that the tips of his shoes were touching Michael's drawn up knees. Michael didn't look up or move.

"Get inside."

Michael had to crawl at first. After he got his legs under him, he walked bent over until he could hold onto the door for support. Lincoln did nothing to help him. It would sink in that way. If he broke down and took care of him now, later he would be in some morgue identifying him.

When they came through the door, Veronica was furious.

"Don't help him. Don't help him," Lincoln warned her.

He held her arm while Michael staggered to the bathroom. She looked down at Lincoln's bloody fist holding her back.

"He's got to learn. He's going to get a lot worse than that if he doesn't stay off the streets," Lincoln explained. Under her horrified gaze, Lincoln felt he had to justify himself.

"What do you expect? That's your life." She pulled her arm free. Lincoln took hold of her again.

"It may be my life, but I'm keeping him out."

"Out? Out of your life? You are all he has. Beating him up?" Veronica was holding her forehead. She was angry and disbelieving. She couldn't look at him. What did she think he was going to do? How did she think he was going to handle this? With a little pep talk, grounding, no TV for a month? Veronica looked back at him suddenly.

"This is how gangbangers initiate new members, isn't it, Lincoln?"

He didn't answer her.

"He took his beating. He's in now." Veronica pulled free of him. She went to Michael. From the bathroom, Lincoln could hear her murmurings, water running, and the sound of retching.

  
  


The end


End file.
